


Devil with the blue dress on #IneffableValentines2020 prompt 21

by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge)



Series: Ineffable Valentines 2020 [21]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: #ineffableValentines2020, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bondage, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/M, Femme Crowley (Good Omens), Horses, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Restraints, Rope Bondage, Sex, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Valentines, ineffable valentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22501768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapheapchallenge/pseuds/GayDemonicDisaster
Summary: Crowley requires Aziraphale’s special skills every now and then to deal with a troublesome aspect of living in the pre-automobile age. Devolves into smut at the end. My apologies for this ending up rather like a period drama or Mills & Boon nonsense, but that’s how it turned out. I’m rather too influenced by my own historic collection of equine stories like “Mr Sponge’s Sporting Tour”, “Handley Cross” and Jorrocks’ “Jaunts and Jollities.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Valentines 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618783
Comments: 35
Kudos: 134
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	Devil with the blue dress on #IneffableValentines2020 prompt 21

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miele_Petite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miele_Petite/gifts).



1770, London.

Aziraphale sorted through the post and was gratified to see one in the familiar scratchy scrawl of Crowley amongst the pile. Setting the rest aside for the moment, he opened it eagerly for news of what his friend might be up to. Of course, in order to keep their arrangement secret, he did not directly identify himself, he didn’t need to.

“Dear Mr. Fell, I have need of your assistance. It has come to that time again where my old mount has come of an age to require retirement, and I find myself seeking a new horse.

As I’m sure you recall, I often have some difficulty in this regard, and would appreciate your assistance as usual in helping me select and settle my new steed. I would be most obliged if you might be able to come out to Newsteads Farm on Wednesday the 21st of February, where I shall be trying out some new mounts from Squire Wainwright.

Yours, C.”

Aziraphale smiled to himself. Every decade or so Crowley tended to call on him for help like this. The problem was that both of them were required to travel around a fair bit for their respective jobs, and unfortunately, until someone invented something better, both of them were obliged to use horses to achieve this. Crowley often grumbled that head office insisted he only be seen riding big black horses with attitude, for the look of the thing, and he hated it.

The bigger problem, of course, was the demonic aspect. There was no such thing as a demonic horse, so he had to make do with regular earthly horses, and they had something in common with almost every other animal, in that they were particularly unnerved by demonic influences.

Wherever poor Crowley went, dogs barked, cats hissed, cattle charged, horses spooked, birds took flight. They could sense his demonic aura and wanted nothing to do with it. Horses in particular were always on edge around him.

All this created some difficulty when it came down to actually riding the damned things. Because as soon as his backside hit the saddle, their ears pinned back and they began to skitter around, shoes striking sparks on the cobbles, tails swishing, whites of their eyes showing, heads shaking and everything else they had in their repertoire to let the world know that they _really_ didn’t want Crowley anywhere near them.

It was hard to ride anywhere at all when your mount was spending half its time going backwards and trying to buck you off. Fortunately Aziraphale was able to help. He often wondered how other demons managed, without a consenting angel to lend assistance.

* * *

On the morning of the 21st, Aziraphale alighted from his hireling, a worn out old screw with hogged mane and bobbed tail. Its chestnut coat thick and fuzzy against the winter chill, but not quite hiding it’s lean frame. It was cheap and well behaved, but looked rather overworked. Aziraphale had decided to rent it for a week and only ride it for a day or two, so he could give it a holiday and try to feed it up before he returned it to the livery yard he rented it from.

He took in the surroundings of the farm as a young boy rushed over to take his horse and rub it down for him while he waited for Crowley. The lad indicated a bench outside the barn where he could sit and wait, next to a couple of elderly horsemen, sitting smoking their pipes in the weak winter sunshine.

Presently, he heard the slightly uneven gait of Crowley’s horse trotting down the road. One of the elderly gents took his pipe from his mouth and cocked his head, listening carefully. With the knowledge borne of long years working with equines he pronounced sagely: “That’uns not sound. Yer can hear it in ‘is footfalls, listen…” Aziraphale listened to the hoofbeats and heard what the man meant – rather than a distinctive two beat gait, one hoof must have been landing a merest fraction of a second behind the others, so one footfall was slightly out of time with the rest. The old man nodded to himself, “You can offen’ hear it afore ye see it, lad.”

Crowley rounded the bend in the lane on his now rather elderly black Norfolk Roadster. It had been a smart horse in its heyday, and was still hogged and bobbed, turned out immaculately, but showing a smattering of grey hairs around its muzzle and sunken eyes. Its legs had collected variety of lumps and bumps over its lifetime, but it seemed amiable enough.

Aziraphale quickly amended his mental pronouns for Crowley, as today she was dressed in a smart dark blue velvet riding habit, riding sidesaddle, with a dark blue silk bonnet and black veil, her scarlet hair tied up neatly in a bun restrained by a hairnet, and the whole lot secured with hatpins. Her stock was black silk, and carried a gold serpent shaped stock pin.

She easily opened the gate one handed, using the crook of her crop to hold it and swing it closed behind her with practised ease before any of the stable staff even had chance to rush over and get the gate for her. She smiled at Aziraphale. “Good morning, Mr. Fell, I’m so glad you were able to come and assist me in my new purchase. Old Collier here is rather past his prime, I fear, and the time has come to replace him.”

One of the elderly gents ambled over to take Collier’s reins as Crowley dismounted, and Aziraphale took her hand as she stepped down, settling her skirts. The older stable hand led Collier off to a spare stable. “Oh, wait a minute, sir” Crowley halted him. “I’ll need my own saddle for trying the new horses out.” She ran the stirrup up and undid the girths, easily hefting the heavy sidesaddle on her arm before setting it carefully on the bench.

Mr Wainwright emerged from the main stable block with a smile. “Ah, Miss Crowley, a pleasure as always to see you milady. I have a couple of mounts who might be suitable for you today. Do follow me, my boy will fetch your saddle. Lovely to meet you again Mr Fell, you truly do have a skill with these things don’t you?” Aziraphale and Crowley followed him into the stable block, where all of a sudden every equine in the building pinned its ears and scowled at Crowley.

Mr Wainwright, as always was confused as to why this happened whenever Miss Crowley paid a visit. Even his most mild mannered horse would become grouchy at her approach. Mr Fell coughed quietly and suddenly the horses all relaxed again and returned to munching on their hay or watching the newcomers with mild interest.

“First up we have a 4 year old Dales crossed with a fine Hackney, madam. Brought her down from Appleby. Then there’s this 5 year old Irish Draught crossed on a Thoroughbred, from a line by Eclipse, no less.” Here, Crowley raised an eyebrow approvingly. “This 3 year old here came down from Wales, old English Black crossed on a Cleveland bay, bit smoother ride than the Dales and Hackney, if you’re of a mind for a bit less knee action. Still a bit green, mind.”

Wainright carried on down the line. “This’n is another 4 year old, another Norfolk Roadster like your old Collier, related to ‘im on ‘is dam’s side too. Then last one you might be interested in is this mare, she’s 4, but don’t be deceived by her frame, Madam. She’s a fine barbary crossed on a Cleaveland bay mare from up Yorkshire way. She’s tougher than she looks.”

Crowley considered them each carefully. As had already been agreed, each one was black. She’d try them each in turn, as until you’d ridden them you’d have no idea how suitable any might be. “Saddle up the first, Mr. Wainwright, I’ll try the Hackney cross anyway, although as you say, the knee action might be an uncomfortable ride, we shall see.”

The stable boy saddled the first horse as Crowley and Aziraphale waited in the yard. “I always meant to ask, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, “why do you always try horses as a woman? It doesn’t seem to make them any less afraid of you.”

Crowley winked conspiratorially. “Side saddle, Angel. Got the leaping head at the front and it’s far easier to grip up and stay on when they mess about, less likely to fall off. Did you know the army keep a few side saddles around for breaking in the most difficult horses? Useful tip should you ever need it, not that you would, of course.”

Aziraphale nodded. “It’s rather lovely seeing you in something other than black, the blue suits you, dear.”

Crowley grunted. “Can’t get away with black so much as a woman. People keep asking me who I’m in mourning for. I just tell them I haven’t decided yet. Anyway, a friend gifted me this riding habit and it seemed churlish not to wear it now and then.”

The first horse was led out and Crowley made her way to the mounting block, as the stable boy held the reins. She mounted with an easy swing of her hips then tucked her knee over the top pommel and settled her behind on the soft doeskin seat, taking up the double reins with a practised hand.

As soon as her backside had hit the saddle, the mare’s ears had pinned back with a fierce scowl and her tail began lashing her flanks angrily. Crowley tutted at her and gave her a nudge, but instead the mare stomped a hoof and backed up three paces into a hedge. Crowley sighed. “Ang.. Mr Fell?”

Aziraphale hurried forward and took the mare’s rein near the bit. He laid a comforting hand on her neck and murmured something quietly at her, too quiet for anyone to hear. She immediately stilled, her tail relaxed and her ears flicked forwards, the picture of contentment. Crowley nudged her again and she walked forward happily. Aziraphale stepped back. Mr Wainwright nodded at him in deference. “You’re a regular horse whisperer, Mr. Fell, you’re wasted as a bookseller, I tell you. You should be running a stable like I do, Sir.”

Crowley walked the mare out to a small paddock and put her through her paces. The trot was indeed rather jarring, although her canter smooth. The horse was also a little on the smaller side for Crowley’s tall frame. She returned to the gate and dismounted. “I’ll try the next, thank you.”

They repeated the performance with the Irish Draught cross thoroughbred, which was rather more highly strung, albeit with a smoother trot. It was a little on the large side though and mounting was challenging with it’s nearly 17.3hh height, despite Crowley’s long legs.

Next was the equally tall 3 year old English Black (which would one day become known as a shire), crossed on a Cleveland Bay. The gelding was the quietest of them all so far even before Aziraphale settled it further, but also on the large side, and not particularly animated. It was rather dead to the leg and needed a lot of motivation to nudge it into a lumbering trot, and even more leg to encourage it into a resentful canter. Crowley dismissed it.

Next was the Norfolk roadster, a 16.2hh gelding with good clean legs and hardy disposition. It did, however rear up as soon as Crowley mounted, yanking the reins out of Aziraphale’s hands before he had chance to settle it with some angelic persuasion. Crowley tensed her thigh up to the leaping head and locked her legs on to avoid being ditched in the dirt. She rode out the bronc as the horse leapt across the cobbled yard, slipping on the stones and snorting. She took a firm hold with one hand and braced her fist against its withers, pulling its head round until it couldn’t carry on going forward and ended up in a tight circle, snorting. Aziraphale managed to duck in and grab the other rein, pushing forward his gentling miracle to soothe its mind, and it gradually relaxed.

Once settled, Crowley took it through a few circles of walk, trot and canter, tried it with the gate, and popped over a small jump, feeling a bit more affinity for this one already despite the rocky start.

Lastly came the barbary cross Cleveland bay. She was a very feisty petite mare, all of 15.1hh, and Crowley did like the look of her, but her small stature combined with equally troublesome attitude that even Aziraphale struggled to fettle crossed her off the list before Crowley had even got the horse to the paddock to try her paces.

Crowley dismounted again, and the mare pinned her ears to aim a bite at the demon’s back. Crowley spun and hissed at the horse, startling her into a stunned obedience, although she pinned her ears back again behind Crowley’s back after she had walked off.

“I believe I’ll take the Roadster, Mr. Wainwright. He reminds me very much of Collier when I first bought him from you. You said you had a place in mind for him as well?”

Wainright nodded. “Yes I do Madam. A local widow has a small mill, she has a gingang on the side to grind the corn, and needs something old and steady to do the easy work. It’s only a couple of days a week walking pulling the grinding wheel mechanism around for a couple of hours, nothin’ taxing and best suited to the older ‘osses. Collier’d fit right in there. The widow is a lovely auld lady. Always spoilin’ her animals, They’re all fat as butter and happy as a pig in… Oh, sorry milady, forgot myself there.”

Crowley smiled. “Furnish me with her address, and inform her that I shall be making the odd visit to check on things, will you?” Wainright nodded eagerly. “The ‘oss will be 190 guineas, Miss Crowley. ‘E dussn’t ‘ave a name yet, no doubt you’ll be able to furnish ‘im with one.”

Crowley cast her eyes over the horse, who was being saddled again with her own tack including the bridle from Collier. “One hundred and fifty, Mr. Wainwright. He’s hardly bloodstock is he?”

Wainright scoffed. “But you can see he’s of fine fettle, madam. And his relative did you sterling service didn’t ‘e? Thou knows it’s a good line. One hunnert eighty.”

Crowley gave him a long, calculating look. “One hundred and sixty, Mr. Wainwright, and not a farthing more.”

Wainright held out his hand to shake on the deal. In deference to the fact he was addressing a lady, he forebear to spit on his hand first as he might have with anyone else. She shook it, and fumbled for her reticule, producing a pile of guineas, sovereigns, crowns, florins, sixpences and more, sorting through them, before handing a substantial pile over to the horse dealer. “Be sure to take care of Collier, my man. I shall be checking up.”

Aziraphale’s hireling was led out again, but before mounting he took the time to restrain Crowley’s new horse while she mounted. It would take a few repeat applications of the angelic miracle before the effect became permanent and it settled down to Crowley’s presence. Until then, Aziraphale would need to hang around every day to assist. He settled it again before mounting his own horse. “Shall I escort you home, Miss Crowley?” he enquired, she nodded in polite acceptance, and they trotted off down the lane together.

Crowley was currently residing in a tall townhouse near Kensington, with the mews behind providing a small coach house and two stables, with hayloft above and room for a groom. The groom came out to take Crowley’s new mount and Aziraphale’s hireling in and rub them down. “Care to join me for tea, Aziraphale?” Crowley raised her arm to allow the angel to take it as they walked up the garden from the mews house at the end. He took it in a gentlemanly fashion and accompanied her up the path.

Aziraphale sat back on the settee and sipped his tea. “Doesn’t your groom get confused over your occasionally ambling down there as a woman?”

Crowley laughed “Nah, Miss Crowley is Mr. Crowley’s cousin, she visits from time to time, y’know, to take in the London society scene.” She drank some of her own tea and offered Aziraphale a slice of fruitcake. “What should I call this one, do you think?”

Aziraphale pondered for a moment, nibbling on the cake thoughtfully. “I’m not sure, perhaps we should give it a few days and see what leaps out at us. I can be back tomorrow afternoon, if that suits you, by the way?”

Crowley nodded. “If afternoons are good for you, Angel, if we keep at it you can probably get him settled in a few days, hopefully.”

* * *

Each afternoon Aziraphale came to help calm the horse’s mind while it learned to associate Crowley’s presence with relaxation rather than fear and panic. Repetition was the key. They’d head on down to Rotten Row along the edge of Hyde Park, and exercise the horses along the promenade. Aziraphale would bring a hireling and accompany Crowley on her new steed, remaining close at hand should it flare up and forget its manners.

There were a few spectacular “fireworks” moments where Crowley came close to being dumped in the dirt, and she drew quite a crowd of admiring gentlemen who found a lady mastering a flighty horse to be somehow alluring. They crowded round on their hacks to admire her skill in the saddle, and to try to press their calling cards on her afterwards. Aziraphale glowered at them until they backed off apologetically.

On the fifth day Aziraphale proposed a name. “Firecracker.” He announced.

“Pardon?” Crowley was gripping the double reins and trying to keep her mount restrained as he jogged impatiently, jabbing at the bit now and then, keen to have a canter, and snorting eagerly.

“I think he looks like a Firecracker, what do you think?”

Crowley considered it for a moment. “Good name” she shrugged. “Fancy a bit of a gallop?” she hissed with a wink. “I want to try to get that Bitch Arabella off her fancy thoroughbred up there.” Before Aziraphale could protest, Crowley had spurred Firecracker on to a flat out gallop, startling other horses left, right and centre, honing in on a gaggle of ladies gossiping with each other. They’d earlier been glancing sidelong at Crowley and making snide remarks about her dress.

Crowley grinned wickedly as she closed in on the group of ladies, egging Firecracker on even more, then charged through them, scattering dainty delicate thoroughbreds and hacks, who bolted, the majority of them ditching their unsuspecting riders in the process. Crowley cackled and reined her horse in, looking back to see Aziraphale frowning at her disapprovingly as he gave chase to catch one of the loose horses.

A little while later he trotted up to where Crowley was letting her horse graze on a long rein at the side of the ride. “Really, Crowley, that was deplorable behaviour!”

Crowley shrugged. “Demon. Job description. Besides, Firecracker enjoyed it. I think he and I are going to get along famously.” She patted his neck affectionately. Aziraphale sighed theatrically. No harm had actually been done. All the ladies and horses were miraculously unhurt, just frightfully embarrassed, and none of the miracling had been the angel’s doing. It was pure Crowley up to mischief as usual.

They ambled back to Crowley’s residence, letting the horses have a loose rein to relax, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over Crowley’s corseted figure as he rode on her offside, as a gentleman should with a lady riding side-saddle. “Do you think you’ll need me to come around tomorrow as well then?” Aziraphale asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Crowley shook her head. “I think we’ve got this now, but thanks for all your help Aziraphale. I appreciate it.” She shot him a brief smile and Aziraphale’s heart stuttered at the sight. He gazed at the long sinuous line of her body, the gentle curve of her waist within the corset down to the smooth line of her hip and thigh as it rested on the pommel, and ached to reach out and caress it. He bit his lip and stiffened his resolve. The past few days in Crowley’s company had been wonderful, being allowed to be close to her and relaxed, and now they’d be back to their usual occasional meet-ups and arrangements, back to business, not pleasure and relaxation.

They got back to Crowley’s to find a note pinned to the coach house door. “Mistress Crowley, Young Master Andrew the groom had to go over to visit his sister who isn’t well, he asked me to write this note for him, he should be back tonight, Miss Marshall.” Written by the neighbour, as the groom didn’t read or write. It wasn’t the end of the world, Crowley was more than capable of untacking and grooming her own horse. She dismounted, removed her hat and veil, then set about rubbing Firecracker down. Aziraphale followed suit with his hireling, intending to allow his horse to rest and have some hay while he took tea with Crowley before he returned home.

Crowley tied her horse up to the rope and log in the standing stall while Aziraphale filled the heavy wooden water bucket, then Crowley ascended to the hayloft to throw a few flakes of hay down through the hatch into the hay rack below for the pair of horses.

Aziraphale had just finished rinsing the bits off in a bucket when he heard a thump and some expletives from upstairs. “Are you quite alright, Crowley?” he called, rushing up the ladder, where he found Crowley, upside down in a pile of hay bales, struggling to right herself again, and swearing. He stopped and laughed. “Whatever did you do, dearest?”

Crowley hissed from the pile of hay. “Stood on the pile to get a bale off the top and the lot fell over and pitched me over into the middle of the stack, what does it bloody well look like, Angel?” She was sneezing through the hay dust and trying to clamber her way back up, hampered by the inflexibility of her corset. Aziraphale stepped forward to assist, reaching out his hand to her.

Crowley took his hand and tried to pull herself up, but Aziraphale hadn’t braced himself sufficiently and found himself instead pulled over on top of her with a startled little gasp.

He lay there for a second, dumbfounded, his body pressed close against hers, faces only inches apart, both equally surprised and breathing heavily. “Oh!” he exclaimed softly. He hesitated, then reached out to pick a strand of hay out of Crowley’s hair. “You really are quite a mess, dear.”

Crowley finally drew breath and laughed. “As I note you seem to be in no particular hurry to remove yourself from my bosom, perhaps you might as well make me a bit more messy then, Angel?” She winked and let a little wave of seductive temptation unroll into her aura, not that it was especially needed. She could already feel Aziraphale’s hardness against her.

Aziraphale froze, his mind whirling, then bit the bullet and kissed her.

Crowley melted into his arms as his soft lips met hers in a slow but passionately deep kiss that set her heart afire. His strong body pressed close against hers set her heart racing and she clung to his torso, afraid that if she let go that he might change his mind and flee.

Aziraphale lifted off for a moment and gazed into her eyes. “My dear, I think perhaps I should make you more comfortable before we continue with this endeavour.” He sat up on his knees and lifted her easily up, then reached out to grab a woollen striped witney blanket down from a rafter where it had been hung to air out, and laid it down over some hay bales. Crowley sat down on the edge of it, and he knelt before her to lay her down gently with another kiss, one hand on her waist, and the other cradling her head. He lifted off. “Crowley, would it be terribly forward of me to ask if I may undress you, my dear?”

Crowley growled and tried not to laugh. “If you don’t, Angel, I’ll tie you to the damn rafters and strip you myself.”

Aziraphale blushed deeply, and began to fumble with her jacket, as she pulled at his cravat. After a few layers, faced with the corsetry, their eyes met, and Crowley raised her fingers to snap with a raised eyebrow. Aziraphale nodded, rather flustered by that point. He blinked and gazed down at Crowley’s lean curves laid out below him on the witney blanket. From her elegant long throat down over her modest breasts sitting high on her narrow ribcage, the hollow of her stomach to sharpness of her hips and long, lean, milky white thighs, elegant calves and dainty feet.

Aziraphale drew a low breath of admiration and ran a hand softly from her ear, down her jaw and throat, down her sternum and stomach to her navel, then paused to meet her gaze as his hand slowed, drawing lower to the soft red curls of her pubis. Crowley gazed back at him from under hooded eyes, a lazy smile on her lips. Her own gaze took in his muscular frame and strong hands, thick thighs and jutting erection nestled in blonde curls between his legs, eager for her.

Crowley gasped and rolled her eyes back as his questing fingers delved between her legs, finding the wetness there and pushing deeper. She squirmed up to the contact and grabbed at his forearm with one hand, nails digging in and refusing to allow him to stop as she hissed through her teeth.

Aziraphale grinned and rested one elbow on the blanket next to her, reaching up to kiss her as he kept one hand busy between her legs, making her wriggle in delight. “Oh my dear, you are so unutterably beautiful. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to ravish you like this, darling.” He breathed into her ear, then kissed, licked and sucked his way down her neck.

Aziraphale’s kisses worked their way lower until he took one pert nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue over it, releasing delightful shocks into Crowley’s body, then sucking it firmly until she gasped out and moaned, clawing at his back. Crowley hooked one leg behind Aziraphale’s back and tried to pull him closer to her, but he resisted, instead keeping his fingers moving skilfully at her clit, dipping deep into her and then drawing out again to tease her clit in little circles until she whimpered and shivered.

Aziraphale kissed his way lower down her body. “Aziraphale, please, love, fuck me” Crowley hissed desperately.

Aziraphale continued his unhurried kisses down her torso. “My dear, I have no intention of rushing proceedings, you are simply going to have to be patient.” Crowley moaned in frustration and tried to grab at him. Aziraphale stopped and tutted. He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised, a stern look on his face. “Darling, if you can’t behave I may just have to restrain you.” Crowley’s eyes lit up and her smile widened. Aziraphale stood and reached for a white rope halter that hung from a peg, unwinding the thick, soft cord. He slipped it around her willing wrists, then tied the other end to part of the block and tackle mechanism used to hoist hay bales up into the loft, pinning her arms above her head. 

Satisfied with his work, he kissed her on the lips, and then resumed his torturously slow journey back down her naked body until he reached her crotch, where her legs spread wide, inviting him in. Aziraphale paused, and fixed her with a steely gaze, one eyebrow raised questioningly. Crowley’s expression darkened and she hissed at him. “Angel…” she said warningly. “Do it.”

He shut his mouth out of sheer contrariness and shifted back an inch to study her quietly. Crowley squirmed and groaned in frustration. “Aziraphale…” 

The angel chuckled quietly, then suddenly, without warning, darted forward and licked up her labia in one long stripe, making her cry out in surprise. “You _bastard_!” she squealed. 

Aziraphale grinned, then dipped down again to give her a more thorough licking, tongue going deeper, never stilling, flicking from side to side and sucking on her labia, then up to her clit, darting around it in clever circles, drawing sustained whimpers from her lips. He let his tongue wander lower again and lapped at her cunt, tasting her sweet saltiness and moaning at the taste of it on his tongue. He brought his hand up and slowly inserted two fingers into Crowley’s vagina, pushing deep into her hot wet centre, then wriggling slightly as she swore and pulled against the ropes as the pleasure overwhelmed her. 

Aziraphale began steadily finger fucking her while circling her clit with his tongue, watching her reaction from under his brows, delighting in how unravelled she was becoming. He curled his fingers up and pressed into the little pad of vaginal wall where a few extra nerve endings heightened sensations slightly and felt her shudder around him, then, watching her face carefully, drew her clit into his mouth and sucked until she screamed out and her thighs tightened around his head. He relented, but increased the pace of his fingers, adding a third, and keeping his tongue moving, until she was grinding down on his hand, shaking and orgasming in a delicious flood, sobbing in ragged breaths.

The angel slowed his hand and withdrew. He licked one finger slowly, holding eye contact with the demon, who licked her lips at him. Aziraphale shuffled up the bed and brought his other fingers to her lips, where she licked and sucked down on them greedily, before they shared a kiss. He squeezed her breast and then lined himself up between her legs and pushed slowly forward with a cock which had been aching and neglected for far too long already. He shuddered himself as he breached her tightness, and struggled to restrain himself from plunging in too hard. 

Crowley’s slim legs came up and around his waist, forbidding any thought of escape, not that the angel had had any such inclination. He rather felt he could happily spend the rest of his existence right here between her legs. He pushed forward until he bottomed out, as Crowley moaned with the delightful fullness of his thick cock stretching her so deliciously. 

Aziraphale brought his upper body closer to hers and she relished the weight of him on her, wishing she could claw at his back. The angel was breathing hard into her ear as he began to thrust into her, then he brought one hand up to grasp her neck, just on the uncomfortable side of firm, pushing her jaw to one side and licking up the side of her throat, then biting down, nipping at her skin, then working lower until he pressed a love bite to her shoulder. He kept one hand on her throat, and his thrusts became harder, his entire body language more possessive. 

Aziraphale shifted his position, bringing one arm down, he slid it under one of Crowley’s thighs and lifted it up and over his shoulder, then repeated the action with the other, gripping both hard enough to bruise, angling himself in deeper and pushing faster, slapping against her soft skin with a fierce determination, his face locked in a feral snarl of lust. Crowley smirked, knowing she’d fed right into that, and glorifying in her work. It was nothing that Aziraphale hadn’t wanted anyway, she just helped accelerate his desires slightly and unlock his potential. And what potential was hidden in there. She wondered where he’d developed his technique, feeling a brief stab of jealousy, but she was one to talk. She tried to forget about it. 

His movements became more frenzied, more uncoordinated at his impending release, pounding deep into Crowley until she was yelping with every thrust, finding it hard to draw breath. She climaxed noisily, not caring who might hear, gripping her lover tight. Aziraphale gasped out at the incredible tightness, but continued to thrust on several more times before following suit, shuddering into her, his mouth open, staring straight into her eyes as he came, intensely fierce, owning all of her in that moment. 

Aziraphale collapsed down onto Crowley, breathing hard. He lifted one hand to snap the rope away, and she reached up lazily to trail her nails gently up and down his back, making him shiver. “Angel…” she whispered, and pressed a kiss to his temple. “That was beautiful.”

The angel smiled and kissed her soft lips again. “I fear I have left you looking somewhat dishevelled, my dear.” He eased himself out and stood up, taking her hand and helping her gently to her feet. He picked pieces of hay from her now undone long copper hair. She laughed. 

“I’m not sure that’s going to work, Angel.” She snapped her fingers and was suddenly clothed and tidy again. “But I’d appreciate it if you could drop the hay down into the racks for me before those two kick the walls in down there.” Aziraphale noticed that he could hear the horses being rather restless below them, he snapped his own clothing back into place and hurried to feed them before following Crowley down the ladder. 

  
She lounged against the wall and watched him tidying up. “You know, I think that perhaps I might need a little more assitance with Firecracker for a while. Might you be able to continue to help me a little longer? Several more afternoons at least.” She winked at him. Aziraphale grinned, stepped forward and pinned her against the stable wall and kissed her again. “I absolutely think that would be a _capital_ idea.”


End file.
